The Typhoon's corridors whispered underfoot as Fedlimid moved through them, the creak of well-traveled planks and the hum of containment runes guiding his steps like a second heartbeat. Lanterns cast pale light across his shoulders, and though he kept his pace calm, his focus was sharp, ears flicking toward every sound that might matter.
Few spoke when he passed. Fewer still continued their sentences. The crew knew his face, but not the name behind it. To them, he was Black Hair, wind-slicked and sharp, loyal to the famous White Wing, but always watching. They didn't fear him. Not quite. But they stepped out of his way like he carried something just heavy enough to unsettle.
A burst of laughter cracked from a lower deck stairwell, followed by a voice that never quite learned volume control.
"So I told him, if that beastcore cracks again, I'm shoving it up his-"
"Mazing." Fedlimid called, raising a hand.
